


In Perfect Harmony

by FitzsimmonsForever



Series: Love is a Symphony [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional, F/M, FitzSimmons - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Musicians, Simmons plays the cello, and Fitz is her accompanist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 09:16:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11483319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FitzsimmonsForever/pseuds/FitzsimmonsForever
Summary: Fitzsimmons are a famous duo, classical musicians that are taking the world by storm. A story with brief snippets on their lives and how they come together.





	In Perfect Harmony

**Author's Note:**

  * For [for_within_the_hollow_crown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_within_the_hollow_crown/gifts).



> This fic was inspired by odinsdotter, who gave me the prompt for winning my fanfic competition on Tumblr! Thank you so much for this prompt... I had so much fun with it. 
> 
> Being a music major myself, this fic means a lot to me. I poured a lot of myself into the story and a lot of this was based on my experiences (by no means am I famous, but I know my friend performance anxiety very very well haha). So I really hope you all enjoy this and thank you for reading!

He can hear the crowd from behind the closed curtain, their chattering voices blending into a wall of noise. He swallows, his hands resting gently against the ivory keys, feeling their coolness against the pads of his fingers.

Around him, the stage is darkened, lights dimmed to a low glow. It is empty except for the two of them and their instruments, side by side in the center of the stage. 

Any minute now and the curtains would open, revealing them to the crowd. They would sit there expectantly, waiting for him to play, wanting to hear something beautiful, something shocking. 

He knows that she can see the moment he starts to shake.

“You’re going to do just fine.”

The sound of her whispering behind him is like a balm, his nerves cooling a bit. He smiles over at her, eyes resting on the way her bright red dress clings to her hips, on the way her brown hair is curled over her shoulders, swept to one side by a sparkling clip. 

She sits facing him, her cello resting against her thigh, her bow held loosely in one hand. She is always so calm before a performance, as if she knew what the outcome would be even before she began to play. He feeds on her energy as if he were starving, taking some of her grace and making it his own. 

She had always been his better half. 

“Thanks, Jemma,” he responds, fingers fumbling to straighten his red tie, pulling at his suit jacket. A stage hand gestures at the curtain questioningly and Jemma holds up one finger, leaning a little closer to Fitz. 

“We can do this, Fitz. Together or not at all,” she whispers. 

And then, the curtain opens. 

 

As his fingers tap lightly against the keys, he remembers. 

_He remembers the day he first met her, six years ago when they were freshman in college, ambitious and motivated. He remembers hearing of her, the prestigious cellist that no one really wanted to work with because of her tendency to walk over others._

_But then he had met her, heard the sound of the first notes of the Elgar Cello Concerto ringing through the small recital hall._

His hands dance a dangerous rhythm, pushing the tempo forwards with the memory of that day. She hurries to match him, bow surging across the strings in a huge swelling crescendo. 

_The day he first heard her play, he hadmarched straight to the strings director and requested to become her accompanist for the upcoming jury._

He plays the final chord, a bead of sweat dripping down his jaw. He grins over at her, heart thundering in his chest at the glow in her eyes, at the way her breathing came in little gasps. They had both given it their all tonight, and it clearly showed. 

The crowd roars. 

 

The papers the next morning boast of their incredible performance, a huge picture of the both of them standing together and holding hands covering the front page. They read the article side by side, sipping tea as the sun begins to rise over the skyscrapers around them. 

“However, fans are beginning to speculate the real reasons for the heightened emotion in Fitzsimmons playing. Could the dynamic duo perhaps be dating? Rumor has it….” 

Simmons gives a little snort, shaking her head, her tea sloshing in her mug. “Dating? What an absurd thing to say!” 

She grins over at him, eyes sparkling. 

He tries to smile back, but something deep in his heart pulses to life, an ache he hadn’t been aware of burning into existence. 

 

It shouldn’t bother him, really. 

In fact, he knows that he should be proud of her. Simmons has a side gig in a little quartet, something fun and inspiring. Once, they had posted a video that went viral, and every once in a while, they get together to put on a couple shows. 

But he can’t be happy for her, not when he sees her hanging out with them, with a group of people that always looks like they are having the time of their lives. 

He watches as they film another take, sitting on the sideline of the set and munching on a sandwich. 

The first violinist, a man named Will, throws his bow up into the air on the final note, giving a satisfied nod. He grins over to Jemma, and Fitz’s blood turns to stone in his veins. 

 

Later, he can see them holding hands. 

He stays up all night playing the piano, unable to quiet his mind, unable to still his hands. 

 

The next month, the enter a competition. It had been Jemma’s idea, waving the invitation in front of his nose as if it were a trophy within itself. 

He had agreed at first, the tidal waves of her enthusiasm crashing over him and pulling him out into the sea. She burned bright like a star, and he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by her brilliance. 

He had always been unable to stop himself when it came to her. 

They had chosen their piece and practiced for weeks, until the notes were seamless, until they hardly even had to look at each other as they played, relying purely on knowing, on feeling. 

 

He starts out the piece, pressing the keys down and feeling the pulse of the melody under his fingertips, allowing his mind and body to be swept away by sound. He can feel her presence next to her, his breath stopping in his chest as she sweeps the melody away, allowing her sound to swell into the room. 

It is going well, the two perfectly in sync, playing as if they had never stopped since the day that they had met. 

He finds his mind wandering from that time to the past few weeks. Her voice echoes in his mind. 

_“Dating? What an absurd thing to say!”_

And for the first time in a long time, his hands slip. One sour note gives way to another, hands beginning to shake. Simmons sounds as if she is playing from behind the stage, her melody clouded and muddled in his mind. 

He remembers how the distance has made him ache and long to be with her more than ever. The image of Will’s face flashes through his mind. 

Another sour note. 

He can feel himself shatter apart. 

 

He can’t speak to her afterwards. Her hand reaches out to grasp his arm but he pulls away before she can touch him, running off stage as quickly as his dragging feet allow. He finds the bathroom, throwing himself into the first stall. 

He lets himself break, warm tears spilling down his cheeks and onto his clenched hands. 

He sits there until the results are posted. 

Their names are not on the list of competitors moving on to the next round. 

 

_Fitzsimmons Breaking Under Pressure?_

_Breakup Caused Breakdown? Will Fitzsimmons Perform Again?_

_A Shocking Loss. What Does the Future Hold?_

He doesn’t speak to her for a whole week. It’s the longest they haven’t been in contact with each other since they met all those years ago and, no matter how his heart longs to, he doesn’t answer her calls. 

He debates going back to Scotland to see his mother. 

But even that thought makes him shudder, shame pulsing grossly along with the beating of his heart. 

Eventually, he can no longer avoid her. 

She comes knocking on his apartment door late on the Saturday a week after the competition. He knows its her by the rhythm of her knock, three short taps followed by a longer tap. It’s the opening of her favorite symphony and tears prickle his eyes. 

He waits to see if she will give up and go away, standing in front of the door, one hand rested on the handle. 

“Fitz.”

God, how he missed the sound of his name spoken in her voice. She always said it as if it were the most beautiful word she had ever said, as if the single syllable meant more to her than any other. 

He swallows.

“Fitz, I know you’re in there. Please… I want to talk to-“ 

Her voice chokes and he knows he can’t ignore her any longer, trembling hands clicking the lock and swinging open the door. 

She looks as if she has been crying, her eyes red, face tracked with the faint outlines of tears. He wants to reach out and brush them from her face, but instead he just steps aside, letting her walk into his little apartment. 

She perches on the edge of the couch, hands folded in her lap, clutching onto each other for dear life. He stands on the other side of the room, facing her but head turned towards the ground, hands crossed over his chest as if that will protect him from the oncoming conversation. 

Somewhere outside, a dog barks. 

She takes a breath. Then another. 

“I don’t know why you’re-“ 

“I didn’t mean to-“ 

They both begin talking at once. He glances up at her and then looks back down at the creme carpet. 

“Why are you avoiding me, Fitz?” she asks him. 

It’s not the question he had been expecting. 

“You know why, Jemma!” he responds, taking a step forwards. 

“What do you mean?” She is standing now, fists clenched at her sides. She’s angry, but more than that she’s hurt, upset. He knows that it’s his fault. 

“I screwed up!” he says. “I do what I always do and I messed up and we didn’t win the competition, Jemma!” 

She shakes her head once, then again, a tear dripping down her cheek. She sniffs, wiping the back of her hand across her face. 

“Fitz, you know I don’t care about that,” she says to him. “You know I don’t.” 

And then he is crying, breath catching in his throat, shoulders slumping. He tries to turn away, but then her arms are around him, encasing his body in her comfortable warmth. She presses a kiss to his jaw, an act of comfort that only makes his sobs come harder, his body shake with even more regret. 

He doesn't deserve any of this. But he lets her hold him all the same, unable to bring himself to pull away. 

“It’s okay,” she says after he has quieted down a little. “You know it’s okay to mess up, Fitz. We all have bad performances.” 

She helps him to sit on the couch, her hand pressed into his, rubbing slow circles across his skin. 

“You deserve better, Jemma,” he tells her. She leans her head against his, sensing that he had more to say. 

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it- about us. About how we had been drifting apart with little to no explanation,” he says to her. 

“You will always be my best friend, Fitz. Always,” she says, and there is a harsh gentleness to her voice. 

“But you’re more than that to me, Jemma.” 

The words are out before he can stop them. 

Time freezes. 

This had never been how he had intended to tell her. He had planned on taking her to dinner after a performance that went well, had decided that they would eat fancy food to candlelight and talk about their next piece. Then, after they had finished desert, he would have told her.

This isn’t how it was supposed to happen, this stumbled, broken, messy revelation, unrehearsed and unexpected. 

She stares at him, and his heart falls, knowing that he had probably just pushed her away from him forever. 

“Fitz…” 

He turns away from her, attempting to pull away but a hand to his shoulder stops him. 

“Fitz, why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she asks, and then, to his complete shock, she leans in to kiss him. 

And she is more beautiful than any symphony, more perfect than any piece that he has ever played, ever heard. He drowns himself in her touch and she in his and they forget the world around them ever existed in the first place. 

 

_Fitzsimmons Back on Their Feet!_

_Famous Duo Wins Again!_

_Finally Together! Fitzsimmons Discuss Their Relationship._

_Fitzsimmons Together Again In Perfect Harmony._


End file.
